


Attack dog

by fakesheep-luna (octavaluna)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: BDSM, Bottom Steve Rogers, Deepthroating, Dom Tony, Dom/sub, FaceFucking, Fluff, Foot Fetish, Insanity, Kinky, M/M, Neither is Tony, Painplay, Psychopaths In Love, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Steve rogers is not right, Sub Steve, Superhusbands, Top Tony Stark, Villain Steve, Villain Tony, humiliation play, loving dom, very graphic violence against strangers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-19
Updated: 2015-01-19
Packaged: 2018-03-08 04:10:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3194828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/octavaluna/pseuds/fakesheep-luna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve doesn't swim in self-delusion. He knows that he is sick and that his owner is even worse. He is aware of it every time he rips some nameless guy’s throat out and feels the crunch of bones under his fingers. He is aware of it every time the rush of adrenaline at seeing life slip away from a stranger’s eyes hits him and gets him bothered and panting in ways that have nothing to do with physical exhaustion.</p><p>But it  feels so <i>good… </i></p><p>His owner’s approach is less personal. His shots fall clean and take out several foes at a time, his figure elegant and so graceful he looks like a god among savages. He is power incarnated, cold and burning like a sun at the same time… and Steve tries not to focus on him when they are fighting together, least his knees go weak and his technique falters. It’s fine though. They will go home afterwards and his owner will fuck him on the hard floor, with most of their gear still on and a vicious grip in his hair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Attack dog

**Author's Note:**

> Please, don't seek the police on me for this one. 
> 
> I just wanted a story where both Tony and Steve were villains and fought together, but couldn't find any so I wrote it myself.  
>  **WARNING: They are not misunderstood vigilantes in this one. They are nuts and plain evil.**
> 
> The soundtrack for writing this story was almost every Simon Curtis' song (Specially Brainwash, Joshua, Flesh and Pit of Vipers), Adam Lambert's 'For your entertainment', Janet Jackson's 'Rope Burn', Dark Moor's 'Living in a Nightmare' and of course Rihanna's 'S&M'
> 
> Also:  
> -I'm using Tony's height in the comics (6'1") but RDJ's brown eyes.  
> -Tony's carpet is [Flotex](http://www.austinscarpets.co.uk/flotex-c-29.html.html)

_The villains and the heroes are merging_  
_Everything is blurry_  
_Time is standing still_  
_The sky is switching with the ground_  
_my world is turning upside-down_  
_My sense of judgement seems to be compromised_  
_You're too strong to be denied._

**_Simon Curtis - Brainwash._ **

 

 

They don’t really care about invading or destroying the world. Why would they? In fact, what would they do with the world? Give it to Pepper? Donate it to a random charity?

There is a reason in what they do, deep down there is, but they don’t talk about it openly. Because at the end nothing matters as long as they are together and having fun.

Steve doesn't swim in self-delusion though, he knows that he is sick and that his owner is even worse. He is aware of it every time he rips some nameless guy’s throat out and feels the crunch of bones under his fingers. He is aware of it every time the rush of adrenaline at seeing life slip away from a stranger’s eyes hits him and gets him bothered and panting in ways that have nothing to do with physical exhaustion.

 

But it  feels so  _good_ …

 

His owner’s approach is less personal. His shots fall clean and take out several foes at a time, his figure elegant and so graceful he looks like a god among savages. He is power incarnated; cold and burning like a sun at the same time… and Steve tries not to focus on him when they are fighting together, least his knees go weak and his technique falters. It’s fine though. They will go home afterwards and his owner will fuck him on the hard floor, with most of their gear still on and a vicious grip in his hair.

He loves it, loves being taken and used, ordered to stay put and keep his hands hooked behind his knees, pulling them to his shoulders and leaving him open and welcoming for his owner’s cock to just pound in his ass and make him groan and scream. Delicious pain and pleasure that is both a reward for his loyalty and a drug. But he also loves the lazy evenings in bed, with his cock in a cage and his owner, his love, laid out on the crimson sheets, letting Steve worship his whole body slowly and languidly. Red is a natural color for him, highlighting his beauty, and his fingers are surprisingly gentle on Steve's nape. 

 

This is bliss and Steve can’t help but wonder how the universe deemed him worthy of having this.

 

**_***_ **

**_[Three years ago]_ **

 

It all started when he woke up from the ice. He was still reasonably well back then but it would not hold.

Steve Rogers; the national hero, Captain America, the paragon of all that’s good and right, the savior…

Except that he couldn't see what exactly was what he saved. Every time he turned on the TV he witnessed the degradation and the rottenness of this new-old society. He read books trying to catch up on history and grunted his teeth, horrified and enraged at the same time. All the wars, the genocides, the terrorism and the subsequent responses to it that at the end reeked more of a hunt for profit than a stand up for human rights. All the ugly things humans did to each other, every single one smiling at their dearly beloved while trying to bite a chunk off their back.

In seventy years humanity haven't learned anything.

Steve was a man out of time. He lost everything and everyone he had, as cliche as that might sound it’s what his life had become. A blur of days and months, of learning and isolating himself, trying unsuccessfully to get drunk and just stop thinking. Of working out for hours, killing punching bags like rabbits. It didn't take long for his ice-damaged brain to start putting faces to those bags.

At first they were his old foes, people he hated and the bad guys in history he learned about. He tried to stay motivated and not feel too satisfied when the bags broke and the clear sand looked like a river of blood in his eyes. Next, he started imagining people that annoyed him; the doctors that poked him with needles and talked around him in third person like he was some sort of mindless lab rat; the agents that treated him like a breakable, fragile relic to put on a pedestal but treat with rubber gloves. They all expected him to crumble sooner than later and were even excited for the upcoming spectacle, the way you are fascinated by an acrobat at a circus doing unimaginable tricks but secretly wonder what would happen if they fell. He wondered what would happen if he closed his hands around their necks and squeezed really tight.

When finally director Fury gave into his demands and started sending him on missions Steve relaxed for a bit. They were simple at first but put a sense of direction in his rapidly degradating mind. While on a mission he could let go of himself, focus completely on performing the required task the way he was told to and not worry for anything else. 

He did his best not to kill more than necessary, already aware that something ugly and wrong was happening to him. He just did his job, nothing more. 

The supervillains were the best part of it. Captain America was supposed to be a hero, he fought supervillains because he had to in order to protect the people of his country. Steve Rogers did it because he enjoyed it. He really, really, enjoyed it  _so much_. He didn't have to go easy on them, he could use his full strength, hit them with all he had, crush their bones, tear away their skin... nobody judged him for it, not even the remains of his own agonizing morale. He loved all those super villains, but he had a favorite. 

Iron Man was a thing of beauty. 

Gleaming scarlet and gold, elegant even when his paintwork suffered severe damage... Never mind Captain America never managed to defeat him, Steve Rogers got a kick from every time they came to blows. 

And he was a mystery too. Unlike most villains Iron Man didn't have any evident agenda. He looked like going wherever and doing whatever he wanted; fighting heroes, villains and regular folk alike. He cracked dirty jokes during battles and seemed to be truly enjoying himself in Steve's "company". 

 

Until today, the day of the triple confrontation. 

 

It's him, Iron Man, and several dozens HYDRA agents all alone in an abandoned Research facility. They automatically team up against those pathetic pigs and fight like one body. Iron Man shouting commands as well as his repulsors and Steve raining down on the goons like a storm of bullets.  It's frantic, perfect and completely insane. 

By the time they are done Steve has an agent pinned to the wall by the neck and the first creeps of self-consciousness are starting to slip uninvited into this beautiful moment. Should he really...? 

He is about to let go when a hot weight presses to his back. Iron Man's arms are on his hips, strong and unforgiving, pinning him in place.  Their bodies connect on every inch and his faceplate is sliding along the side of Steve's head. It's surprisingly tender and intimate, completely opposed to his words. "You are going to break him." And it's not a question but not a guess either. It's an affirmation but it feels like permission. 

And Steve doesn't even question the calm extending through his mind as he grips harder, all doubts gone like by an act of magic, until there is not fear left in the man's dull eyes anymore, until he feels flesh and bones give up under his fingers. It's so good and so right. He keeps his hands extended, supporting the dead body and sighs at the pleasure flooding through his nerve endings. He is perfectly aware of one of Iron Man's hands caressing his thigh and welcomes the soothing, metallic touch, rolling his hips unconsciously to get more contact.

However, Iron Man chuckles and steps away, much to Steve's disappointment. 

"You are perfect." He says. "I am keeping you." And Steve revels in the piercing heat of his robotic voice. But it's a heartbeat and a flare if repulsors and Iron Man is gone, leaving Steve in the middle of a massacre with his hands bloody and his dick half hard. 

 

He thinks about that day for weeks, fights some random supervillains and spends too much time deliberating about how fucked up he is. 

 

***

 

Then he meets Tony Stark.

 

The first thing the man does is grab his ass. That easy. Just out of the blue and before they are even introduced, demonstrating a complete lack of reservations. His fingers are surprisingly strong and Steve thinks weren't he superhuman they would leave a lovely bruise. 

Tony is nothing like Howard (not that Steve was actually looking for another reminder of how cut out he is from his former life). He is arrogant, unapologetic and he walks around Steve, eyeing him from head to toe like a piece of meat, before standing in front of him and flashing a devilish grin. He is an inch shorter and not as broad as Steve but everything about him screams power and superiority. Like a black panther showing off its teeth. 

His sole presence sets everyone on edge and pins them down. 

And the way he looks at Steve makes his skin tight and holds him in place at the same time. The magnate doesn't cast him careful glances, like the medics or his handlers do, like they are calculating how much they can get out of him before he breaks down. Tony Stark looks at him like he is already planning a thousand ways to break him down himself. 

They are in a meeting room with Fury and several agents, but none of that matters when Tony's eyes are like daggers that sink deep into Steve's flesh and turn inside. He is hypnotic and gorgeous in ways that nobody else Steve ever met before was. The supersoldier isn't sure how much time he spends there; in parade rest and following Stark's every movement with his eyes. 

"Well, Captain" when he speaks his voice is like liquid gold "looks like I own you now."

Heat strikes the pit of Steve's belly like a bullet, consequence of the words as much as the greed and possessiveness palpable in them, but it doesn't show on his face. In fact he barely raises an eyebrow,  expecting an explanation. 

"Captain, as you know, your duty is with the American government at large and with SHIELD in particular". Nick Fury starts, sounding hesitant, which is rare enough in him. "This also means that if relocating you can provide us with a tactical advantage it's your duty to facilitate us that advantage. Mr. Stark here is the most prominent tech supplier in the country, but he is also a man with a lot of enemies. He requested you as his bodyguard in exchange of..."

"You sold me." Steve cuts him off. He is bitter and a little nauseous but barely disappointed at all. To be disappointed he should have been expecting higher to begin with.

"That's not what I said." Fury shots him a hard glare, but Steve is long past the point where he doesn't give a fuck. 

"That's exactly what you said." 

The side of Fury's jaw twitches. "You work for Mr. Stark now." He says and it's over. 

 

Steve doesn't really mind. He walks two steps behind Stark but close enough shall something unexpected happen. They don't speak, not even in the limousine, where Tony fixes himself a martini but doesn't offer Steve even water and just keeps looking at him intently, with those piercing eyes of his. When they reach the tower he steps towards the elevator and walks like a man with a purpose, calm and smug, like he doesn't even wonder for a second if the 6"2' of supersoldier is really following him. Steve feels like a puppet in a way that makes his muscles tense up and his mind relax completely. 

On the elevator they stand side by side and Tony's eyes gleam. 

He speaks again when they finally reach the penthouse and then the master bedroom. "Keep still" and Steve stands in the middle of the room while Tony goes to retrieve something from the nightstand. 

"On your knees." He orders walking back and Steve obeys without a second thought, keeping is gaze on the wall in front of him. Maybe he should protest, maybe he should be outraged or disgusted. However, the feeling he gets from obeying an order from someone who apparently knows for sure it won't be disobeyed, come hell or high water, is so similar to what he yearned for his whole life... When Tony speaks his voice carries the note of finality, like this is the way the world truly is and everything else is just set there to confuse Steve and misguide his steps. 

Tony circles him once, slowly brushing the tips of his fingers against the wool of Steve's jacket. 

At least he stops in front of Steve and cups his jaw, making the supersoldier look him in the face.  _God, he truly is beautiful!_ His other hand is clenched in a fist and when he loosens it a strip of leather hangs from his fingers. There's something magnetic in the way his index and thumb fingers slide against the cord. Finally, he takes it to Steve's neck and clasps it on his nape, taking his time to straighten it and trace it intently. "You are going to wear this everywhere now." he says, and Steve realizes that he is being collared like a dog. "So you never forget whom you belong to." 

Steve swallows and the thin leather band feels at the same time heavy as a pound of lead and soft like feathers under his Adam's apple. He feels strangely sedated with contempt and his dick is twitching in his pants. He ignores it and looks Tony in the eyes instead. There are a lot of things he doesn't understand, his body's urges only a few of them, but one thing is clear; this is his new owner. Tony is responsible for Steve now. No more roaming an alien time and world alone, no more confused morality, no more insanity, no more black, grey or white. This is good, this is surprisingly good. As long as Tony tells him what to do he can be _free_ of his own demons.  His owner will always take care of him. 

"You are going to fall in love with me." Tony continues evenly, stroking Steve's jaw with strong fingers "You are never going to hide from me. Every cell of your body, every drop of your blood, seed, and sweat are mine now. You are going to worship me and my every word. You are going to take everything I feel like giving you and give me everything I want to take from you. And you are going lo enjoy all of it. Is that clear?" 

Steve nods. Tony pushes two fingers into his mouth, all the way in, and Steve sucks at them, closing his eyes. He moans and his owner smiles almost fondly. "Good boy." The fingers in his mouth move away and fist into his hair, tilting his head back for a rough kiss, all tongue and teeth and dominance.  

"Get up" Tony pulls back after a while and steps aside. "I still have two meetings today and no idea which or these ties is more offensive." 

Steve, slightly dazed but otherwise perfectly calm, grins at the array of really  _hideous_  ties that Tony pulls out of his closet and prepares for the first taste of his new life as his owner's shadow. He is really looking forward to it, blue balls be damned. 

 

***

 

That night Steve sleeps in his briefs on the floor besides Tony's bed. In the morning he wakes up more rested that he did in months and with a raging hard-on that his languid stretching on the carpet doesn't even pretend to conceal. Tony chuckles sleepily and takes pity of him, pulling one leg out of the covers and rubbing the sole of his foot against Steve's cock until he is moaning and whining and shooting spunk all over himself.  

Tony cleans his foot on Steve's thigh and pulls the covers away completely, taking himself in hand and jerking off slowly and languidly. He even lets Steve watch, entranced, even though he doesn't let him touch. 

But it's okay, Tony is beautiful when he is lost in pleasure and he promised Steve he will be able to touch once he's earned his worth. Tony is such a good owner. 

 

***

 

During the next few weeks they settle into a routine. As much as Steve would like to he doesn't get to spend all day by Tony's side. When they are outside yes, he follows Tony like a shadow everywhere he goes, but he's got to be professional about it. He keeps his face stoic and is always alert. 

When they are in the tower though, Tony spends most of his time in his workshop (where Steve is not allowed yet) so he has free range to do whatever he wants until JARVIS warns him that Tony exited the workshop. And while a voice in the ceiling (Artificial Intelligence, or AI, as Tony explained) would have unnerved him just a few days ago, now it feels completely natural. Tony wanted a disembodied butler he made himself a disembodied butler. It's pure logic! His owner is so smart and resourceful that whatever he wants, that he has. Nothing is impossible for him. 

However, Tony also works long hard hours and while he does Steve sometimes goes to the gym (Tony's equipment is amazing) or cooks (the culinary channel is practically the only thing he watches on TV nowadays), but mostly he settles on a fluffy, white mat that Tony set for him outside the workshop and reads. 

The library in the tower is enormous, which is funny because he somehow has trouble imagining his owner with an actual, paper book. There are books about anything; classics, science-fiction, adventures, romance... there are safety manuals and woodwork instructions,  illustration and comics... And everything smells fresh, like it's been there only for a couple of weeks. There's no apparent order to the books, so unless Tony explicitly recommends or mentions a title to him he just grabs the first paperback that catches his attention, rides down the private elevator and curls on the mat. 

That's actually his favorite spot to be. He stretches on it and loses himself in a fictional world of his preference or learns something new that he is probably never gonna need. 

His thoughts are still there, memories of war and a life long gone, of doubts of who is he? What is happening to his mind? But he mostly tries to ignore them and they never bother him when he is with Tony, so it's alright. 

 

***

 

He still sleeps on the carpet surrounding Tony's bed. Sometimes when Tony is feeling like it he takes one of his pillows and rubs it between his legs before giving it to Steve, who buries his face in it and grunts in pleasure at the smell and heat still remaining there. He puts it between his own thighs when he goes to sleep. 

 

***

 

"C'mon, you are dying to ask about it." Tony says once when they are in the living room watching some dumb flick. He is completely naked and comfortably sprawled on the couch. Steve, still in the bodyguard suit he wore earlier to the board meeting sans the jaquet, is resting his temple on Tony's knee and is more interested in glancing up at his owner than in the movie. 

He's been wondering about it since the first moment he saw it, not knowing if it was too personal of a question, and now he is unsure of how to phrase it. 

"How it is called?" He goes with. 

"It's a miniaturized arc reactor. Not exactly something you can find in a grocery shop. It's incredibly unique."

"Why did you put it in your chest?"

"Does it bother you?" Tony raises an eyebrow and  _god no!_ Steve shakes his head. 

"It's pretty and it's part of you. I really like it."

He still likes it when Tony tells him what the arc reactor does. He is not telling everything yet but Steve is patient. He is also a little bit afraid, and a little bit awed but definitively in love with the device. 

He also feels a warm tinkle in his toes because Tony said that one day he may show him where he keeps the backups and even teach him to change it. Only if he is good, of course. Steve decides that he is going to be really good. 

 

***

 

Steve finally meets Pepper and Rhodey. They are fine, he supposes. They are supposed to be fine, they are Tony's friends after all. He still doesn't like people in general (funny, he used to love people before) and those two are definitively people. He doesn't like them being so close to Tony either, but he is trying to make an effort for his owner.

Later though, when he carelessly and happily takes his place at the floor besides Tony's chair, and accidentally catches Pepper's gaze - she smiles at him. Her expression is not one of pity or confusion, she seems to understand that this is where he wants to be and respects it.

Maybe he can get to like her. 

 

***

 

Tony, as it turns out, likes sparring with him. At first Steve is worried about hurting him or overstepping some sort of unspoken rule of their relationship, but Tony just rolls his eyes  _"your only rule is that you do whatever I tell you to. So get the fuck here, unless you want to disappoint me now."_

Steve doesn't, so he obeys. He is stronger, of course, but Tony is surprisingly fast and has better knowledge of boxing discipline and martial arts. He knows where to aim to hurt the most and reads body language like an open book. He runs physics in his mind to anticipate Steve's shifts and unsteady moments before Steve lands on them. For him a fight is a series of math algorithms and cause-effect reactions of the human body machine. 

It's during those training cessions and not on corporate meetings or late-nights of work that Steve gets to fully understand the extend of the genius part of his owner. 

On top of that the supersoldier also  gets distracted by the shift of muscles, inherent grace and the shine of sweat often enough that he ends up with his face on the mat far more than what should be acceptable for him. Nevermind Tony never manages to keep him there for more than five seconds. 

 

One thing is clear though: Tony doesn't need a bodyguard. 

He is training an attack dog. 

 

***

 

Somewhere around two months after Steve arrived to the tower he notices Tony getting restless. He is sharper, colder, fights dirtier and snaps at Steve, who in torn feels pressure building up in his bones, his mind starting to play tricks on him again. He kills two reinforced punching bags in two days and breaks a cutting board. Tony just purses his lips at the sight of it and turns away. 

He disappears into his workshop and doesn't emerge for four days. Steve eats takeout on the couch and watches on the news as Iron Man causes a havoc in the West coast; millions in property damage, twenty three dead and fifteen wounded between the local drug cartel and a few civilian or law enforcement casualties. Steve thinks if he were there the counter would double and punches the coffee table. It shatters under his fist and damn, Tony's gonna be pissed. 

But, when finally JARVIS informs him that Tony's back and wants to see him in one of the usually vacant rooms, Steve hurries over like devil's got his pants. He might be tense and in a horrible mood but he is even more distressed by his owner's long absence. 

Tony is awaiting for him leaning on the closed door and Steve comes to a halt in front of him, drops to his knees and looks up. God his owner looks gorgeous. He is obviously exhausted and needs a shave, but his form is strong and defying and he smells of ashes and metal. 

"Fuck, I missed you." He grunts grabbing Steve's jaw and bending down to kiss him, fast and demanding at first but getting more gentle after a few minutes. Steve thinks he is in heaven and whimpers into Tony's mouth, who bites his bottom lip too hard in response.  The taste of his own blood on Steve's tongue makes his toes curl. 

"I bought you a present." Tony says drawing back. "Because let's face it: you are far from clueless and we both know it." 

He opens the door and signals for Steve to get up and follow him. 

The present in question is not the chair in the middle of the otherwise empty room but the man tied to it and gagged with a dirty rag. 

Steve stares at him, then back at Tony, who is smug as a cat and leaning on the wall looking pleased with himself. 

"Thought it would be a good change from the punching bags." 

"And you just brought him here?" 

"Well, can't let him waltz out of here now that he saw our faces. Cm'on, sweetheart, give me a performance." Tony winks and Steve doesn't need to be told twice. 

He walks  around the chair and rips the cord apart, but before the man can start running he yanks him back by the hair and throws him into the floor. Tony picked a good exemplar; strong, bulky, and experienced. Steve's grin threatens with splitting his face in two as he feels the familiar rush of excitement flood his every nerve ending. He throws himself into it and loses his inhibitions in a storm of punches and kicks, but somewhere at the back of his mind he is mindful with avoiding the spots that would knock the man out. The poor thing is cursing and shouting, trying to fight back and failing miserably. 

Steve's muscles sing with the pressure, grateful to be put to a good use at least. He breathes heavily, panting, twisting his victim's arm behind his back and drawing it up until the man is screaming over the sweet sound of bones breakig. He is crying and pleading  _"please, please, stop, mercy, please I'll do anything..."_  And Steve flips him over, kneels over him, digging his knees into the guy's chest and surveying his work. The body under him is barely breathing, coughing blood, and so, so terrified... He has pretty eyes. Specially all bloodshed and filled with fear and tears. Oh, Steve loves this part, it's his absolute favorite ever. He brings his hands to the man's neck and places them for a perfect hold.  _"Please"_ he hears again, barely there and infused with desperation. It's so cute that even in this situation the man thinks he can get out with begging, how obstinate humans can be? Steve lets his amusement play off and his sharp laugh fills the space between them as he braces himself and squeezes. And oh yes, this is every bit as good as he remembered. He presses his thumb more and feels the adam's apple give under it. The naked terror, the life escaping through his victim's eyes... in this very moment he holds the spark of life between his hands and crushes it until it extinguishes and slips away. 

Steve finally lets himself relax and slumps over the still warm body. His breath is coming out heavy and his heartbeat is still accelerated, not from exhaustion but from the endorphin rush in his blood. 

He feels the soft pressure of fingers combing through his hair and looks up to see Tony smiling down at him with infinite tenderness. Silent approval shining in his dark eyes. Tony retreats a dozen steps, walking backwards until his back is leaning comfortably on the tinted glass wall. Steve crawls after him obediently, head bowed and eyes fixed on Tony's boots. He wants to lick them clean, to curl around them, at Tony's feet, where he belongs. The need to submit to his owner so powerful that his heart aches with it.

"I was right. You are perfect." Tony says, and Steve feels his insides tingle at the praise. He beams when Tony's fingers tighten in his hair again and pull his head back, parts his lips and welcomes his owner's tongue in his mouth, where it's warm and wet and at home. 

He is so lost in the kiss that it's not until he hears the cling of Tony's belt sliding open that he realizes what's about to happen.  _Could it really be? Had he finally earned it?_

Tony massages Steve's nape with one hand while with the other pulls his pants and underwear down. His cock is half hard and heavy in his hold, so tempting up close that Steve's mouth salivates and he lets out a longing whine.  _Please_

His owner chuckles darkly. "You are such a needy slut."  _yes_  "Hands behind your back, pet." Steve obeys happily, grasping his wrists tight and reveling in the smell of sweat, musk, and Tony invading his senses. His owner hums approvingly and licks the palm of his hand. Then he brings it back to Steve's hair, grabs a fistful and yanks hard. Hard enough to make a muted hiss escape Steve's throat in response to the sharp pain, and he opens up his mouth, moaning. _This is so good_. But he feels that it's going to get so much better... 

Tony pulls harder and brings the head of his cock to rest against his dry lips, painting them with the precome already leaking from the tip. He traces the open shape of them patiently and then pushes in between. And suddenly Steve's got a mouthful of delicious, hard cock. He's never done this before, never thought he would ever want to take another man's member in his mouth, but now he is almost desperate. He feels his thighs tremble and his own erection throbbing in his pants, but he doesn't even care anymore. He just wants more of that taste and the sensation of being fully at his owner's will.

"Look at you..." Tony whispers, and his voice is thick with desire and something else, something darker, heavier. "So beautiful with my dick on your tongue. I'm going to make you cry, pretty boy." He doesn't let the promise fully sink in before grabbing tighter and pushing forward in one long, quick stroke. Steve cries out in surprise, but his voice breaks as he is suddenly choking and trying to hold back a cough. The grip in his hair doesn't falter though, and Tony draws his dick out, not even letting Steve enough time to catch his breath as he rams back in. And then does it again with a graceful roll of his hips, and again and again and again... He is relentless, uncaring and passionate at the same time, the motions and the shifting pressure of his hand like a perfectly coordinated dance, more instinctive than deliberate. Steve is shaking, he is already gone, so fucking gone. He imagines how must he look: down there, on his knees, with his face full of his owner's manhood, saliva and precome drooling over his chin and under his jaw, being used like a jerk-off hole and forced open. He isn't even bothering to tune down the chocking and gagging sounds forced out of him every time the tip of Tony's cock presses almost too far. He suspects Tony likes hearing them. It's like a dream come true; his owner, sweaty and lost in pleasure, with his head thrown back, ramming into Steve's mouth uncerimoniously, fast and unforgiving and  _yes yes yes yes, please make me take everything..._

"Oh God... so are so good, so responsive... I wonder how far will you go for me." Tony grunts pulling back and Steve lets out a wet cry of longing, he is shaking violently all over and dry heaving, sobbing silently for more and grateful for the pain in his scalp... -  _till the end of the world_  - and that makes it, Tony's cock slamming back in, now all the way past his gag reflex, forcing it's way into Steve's throat. _Ah!_  Ah, his owner is a master at his, he just clasps his hands and forearms around Steve's head in some twisted version of an embrace and feeds him every inch of himself at a maddening pace, with short deep strokes that feel like a claim from the inside. Steve keeps swallowing eagerly around the head, his throat so full and pushed so wide he feels like he's gonna be ripped apart any second, unless he dies first of air deprivation. His vision starts to swim and he isn't sure if it's because of the asphyxia or the tears running down his cheeks. 

Finally, he gets a lungful of oxygen as Tony pulls all the way out. It feels like sandpaper against his abused throat. Somewhere at the back of his mind Steve is aware that he can end this right now; he can push the man away with his superior strength and be done. _Pff!_  The idea alone is so ridiculous. Why would he? How would he? If all he can do is choke around his own sobs as his tears merge with spit on his face and he so desperately pleads for more? Tony grunts low in his chest and obliges, Thrusting in repeatedly, down to the halt, until Steve's face is buried in the mat of dark pubic hair and he can't even produce one sound, so full and lost in pleasure and pain. He feels... dominated, devoid of any trace of conscience and individuality, completely tamed under his owner's grip.

Tony lets out one last gasp and comes to a stop when his dick starts to pulsate. He stays buried deep for a couple of seconds and then draws out with a moan. Suddenly, Steve's mouth is flooded, and he actually has to work to swallow everything, despite his reflexive chokes and sobs. 

Tony's softening cock slids out of Steve's mouth and he leans towards it. It's glistering with remains of their fluids and Steve has the instinctive urge to clean it with his tongue. Tony stops him though, balances himself against his grip in Steve's hair and pushes one foot off the ground, stepping lightly on the bulge in Steve's pants. He drags the sole of his boot up against it. Steve witches compulsively and comes with a whimper. However, his own orgasm barely registers for him, as he is so overwhelmed with everything else. 

"Told you I'd make you cry." Tony bends down, both feet firmly on the ground again, and licks on the corner of Steve's left eyelid, gathering on his tongue the rest of fresh, salty tears. "And you are so beautiful when you are taking my abuse like this, so sweet." Then he kisses his forehead, his temple, his hairline... and Steve never felt so loved, so safe, as in this very moment. This is where he was always meant to be. He was made to serve Tony.  Steve nuzzles his owner's pubic hair, infatuated with the smell and softness of it. This is so good, he feels lax and completely satisfied. If it wasn't for the comfort and the benefits of this position he would be all for becoming a boneless puddle of goo on the floor. 

"How's your throat?" Tony asks softly and he looks so beautifully wrecked Steve can't suppress a wave of pride at he sight. 

"Sore." He confesses hoarsely "Amazing." It will pass in a couple of hours, the serum already working on healing it, but for the moment he can enjoy the sensation, knowing that it was his owner's cock that caused it. God... He had _his owner's cock_ all the way down his throat, and it broke him from the inside. And his mouth still tastes like come. He whimpers loudly as a new wave of arousal twists in his belly and rolls his hips against the empty air. But it comes out muffed by the skin and hair beneath his lips and Tony pulls his head back, grinning affectionately. 

"Be still, you whore!" he chastises "And drop the puppy eyes act, when I want to fuck your pretty face again I'll let you know."

"Okay, Tony."

"What did I say about the puppy eyes?"

"I can't help it, it's my face."

Tony laughs and kisses his brow, pushing him up. Steve sways on his feet a little bit but balances himself right away. Inhaling deeply, enjoying the scent of sex and violence lingering in the air. 

Meanwhile, the other man pulls his pants up and makes a face at the mess in the room. 

"I'll make sure JARVIS and Pepper take care of that" he waves in the general direction of the dead body and steps around it. "I've got something to do in the workshop, and you are a lovely mess but a mess nonetheless. Fifteen minutes; go shower and make yourself presentable. JARVIS, order us pizzas, the usual, and put Parks&Recs on. Lazy evening it is.  "

Steve nods happily. 

Tony is back. 

 

***

 

Steve realizes one day that he is in love with his owner.

He doesn't pay too much attention to it. After all, Tony said he would be eventually, as he also said Steve would worship him and his every word. And didn't that prove to be true from the very beginning? So its's not such a big deal, really. 

He's just happy to be standing behind Tony during some corporate reunion. Tony is as charming as ever, shining with excitement as he is selling his newest idea to the investors, and Steve loves him so very much. 

Just like it should be. 

 

***

 

 _Pepper Potts is a treasure and should be protected at all costs._  Steve decides while sitting with her in the kitchen. Tony is downstairs, working on some new gun prototype for SHIELD (one of the many favors he promised the organization in exchange for Steve) and Pepper is on her lunch break, which she likes to spend with them from time to time. 

"I can't pretend to understand" Se tells Steve, since today they are alone. "But I can see you are both happy this way, so the rest isn't any of my business."

"Even with our... hobby?" He asks tentatively and she arches her perfect eyebrow at him. Unlike Colonel Rhodes she knows all about the murders and Tony's secret door on the back of the workshop. 

"If I were a woman of high morale, Steve, I wouldn't be working for a weapons company run by a psychopath. As I'm not, I don't give a fuck about how many you stab and behead as long as it's not me and I'm getting compensation for the shit you might involve me in."

"Compensation?"

"Stilettos work well, and I usually won't turn down anything with emeralds either."

Steve chuckles "Dully noted."

 

They eat in silence for a while and he knows she is running the right words in her head. "You are his highest priority, Steve." She says finally "He decided he is going to keep you solely for himself, but that means he is charged with you now. You give him a sense of direction, of focus, just being here, from time to time he is going to be difficult. He is going to go off the rails repeatedly and almost damn you both. However, as long as he remains a God in your eyes he is not going to lose his shit completely. He'll keep it together just to preserve his hold on you. The fact that you could leave any second, and yet chose to lay under his feet, is just a bonus, alas an important one in his eyes."

"For someone who claims not to understand, you grasp it very well."

"I understand where _he's_  coming from. Specially since I know him well enough. Whom I don't understand is  _you_." She points her fork at him "What are you getting out of this? How can you stand everything he does to you and look so satisfied all the time? If it were me I would be angry and humiliated. But that tells more about myself, and how my mind is just not set on that kind of frequency, than about you and your life choices."

"He is my owner." Steve states simply and traces his collar with the pads of his fingers. "The only choice I had to make is to give myself to him. Since then  _he_  makes all of my choices and guides me where else I would be walking half blind. He takes care of me, his word is my will. I don't understand why I should feel bad for being at or under his feet when it's what I want to do, where I want to be. If he wants me to do something it's because it's the best thing to do." It's so simple, it looks so simple to Steve. 

"See?" Pepper smiles brightly, poking his nose with her fork  "This is why you are his lover and I'm his PA. Someone around here has to tune down this ego you are just helping to inflate. " 

 

***

 

Steve comes out of the shower one morning to find Tony not gone, as he usually is by then, but still in their bedroom. He is half sitting - half propped on the end of the bed, completely naked. There are tiny droplets of water shining in his hair, the towel lays over his shoulders and his head is thrown back, exposing the long line of his neck and the throb of his adam's apple. One of his hands is fisted in the sheets and the other one...  _oh_. 

Steve swallows loudly, suddenly having trouble breathing at the sight of Tony's cock; hard and wet with water and precome, fisted and caressed by his hand...

He lets out a soft whimper when his knees hit the carpet, they must have given up on him at some point, and leans forward on his elbows, dropping the towel from where it was secured around his hips. Oh yeah, this is better, it wouldn't be right to watch Tony doing this while standing up. Even if then Steve had a better view of his face that's not where he belongs. He belongs down here, drinking in the sight of his owner above him, magnificent and bathed in the morning light as he looks every bit as the powerful magnate that he is. But this is also a sight just for Steve's eyes, which makes his chest swell with happiness. He is not even sure if he is allowed to watch this time, but owner always tells him when he has to close his eyes and just listen. 

His cock is truly a work of art though, and Steve swallows the excess of saliva in his mouth. He shouldn't be so greedy. His owner fucked his mouth again barely two days ago and Steve cried so good, Tony put a foot on his head and pressed the side of his face into the carpet until he stopped sobbing. Steve never felt more humiliated in his life, and he will be getting hard at the memory alone for months now. Just thinking about how he felt back then makes him tremble with need.

Tony is so good like that. He is starting to lose his rhythm and is breathing harder, going faster with his fist. Steve can almost sense it in his bones as he stiffens and groans, shooting spurts of come into the air. 

A droplet lands less than a foot away from Steve and he stiffens. Even though he is pretty much rolling along with all the other technological advancements he honestly doesn't give a fuck about, impermeable carpets are still deadpan on messing with his sanity. He looks at his owner questionably. Tony, at least satisfied, flops on the bed but raises his head and opens lazily one eye surveying Steve.  "Clean up that mess, will you?"

And Steve is happy to oblige, leaning forward lapping at the drops of come. He crawls slowly repeating the motion with the rest of the milky trail, running it around in his mouth, savoring it every time before swallowing. He could live for days only off his owner's come. His back arches not unlike a cat's when he tries to rub his dick between his own thighs. It's easier this way; cleaning the floor with his tongue and his ass up in the air. He knows Tony is watching, can feel the intensity of his gaze and it fuels his arousal even more. 

"Good boy." the brunet says around a satisfied smile once the last of his seed is gone and crosses his knees, presenting Steve with his right foot. There's a white, thin trickle running along his ankle and a couple of drops between his toes. "Cm'on" he nudges Steve's underchin with the tips of them and his voice is like honey that coats Steve's whole body "And get yourself off while you are at it. No hands." 

Steve nods and dives his tongue slowly between his owner's toes. He also extends his body on the floor, resting most of his weight on his elbows, and rolls his hips experimentally, moaning at the drag of his cock against the velvety flooring. If somebody asked Steve what he was doing right now he wouldn't be able to give a straight answer; just licking and sucking at the expanse of his owner's foot, savoring the delicious combination of skin and seed on this tongue, and dragging his cock languidly along the floor... the movement starting to hurt so good he just wants more, goes faster, mewling around a mouthful of Tony's heel, gracing the soft skin with just a bit of teeth... 

He is rutting against the floor now like a bitch in heat, whimpering at the pain and pleasure. The pressure in his belly makes his thighs tremble and the head of his cock is so hypersensitive and wet, sliding between his belly and the carpet... Wet like Tony's skin under his mouth, completely covered in saliva and suction marks.

Steve comes with a broken sob, shaking and bumping his forehead against Tony's calf. 

He stays there for a couple of seconds and a gentle hand combs through his hair as Tony taps his foot against Steve's collarbone. 

"Look at yourself." Se sounds satisfied, despite being half-hard again. "You actually would do anything for me, wouldn't you?"

Steve gathers his wits enough to send him a "duh" look. - Because how's that even a question? - and Tony laughs and slaps him playfully on the back of his head. 

"Don't you get cocky with me, pet. "

"But you like it." And god, his voice sounds so out of tune and breathy. 

"Who told you?" Tony widens his eyes in mock surprise and bends down to kiss his hairline. "Swing by the workshop this evening" He says letting go of Steve's hair and stepping onto a pair of sweatpants, ignoring his lingering arousal. "I've got a present for you."

 

He leaves and Steve relaxes where he is for a good while, resting his head on his forearm and grinning at the ceiling like a loon.  

 

***

 

The surprise turns out to be pretty nice, the implications of it; outstanding.

"Is that...?"

"Put it on. Let me see how it fits you." Tony mumbles around a screwdriver, not even looking at Steve anymore. He's got half a gauntlet on his hand that's hopefully not gonna fire itself on a whim. Again. 

They are in the basement's secret space, which is hidden behind a disguised door in his primary workshop, the one that's connected to an abandoned subway line that has half a dozen exists far enough from the tower so that nobody would suspect Stark Industries to be involved with Iron Man in any way. Or that's what Tony assured Steve the first time he brought him there. (Once they stopped pretending that Steve didn't figure out his secret identity from day one) 

No security measure is perfect, but when you are Tony Stark you can come close enough. 

Steve runs his fingers over the smooth surface of the heavy fabric in his hands and sets it aside reverently. 

Well, when he starts to undress Tony at least peels his eyes from the circuitry to check him out indiscreetly. He leaves his slacks and the collar and puts on the black and gold battle suit. It's made from a similar material that his Captain America uniform, the one he never uses anymore, but this one is denser and feels less like a second skin and more like an actual extra layer of protection. It still allows freedom of movement though, and has articulated solid plaques in sensitive areas.  _Reinforced Kevlar embroiled with titanium fibers._  Tony explains, which doesn't clarify much, but if his owner looks so goddamn proud it must be a real achievement, Steve thinks. 

The suit is really a work of art, fit for rampaging through hell and come back in one piece. His owner is truly talented. 

"Try the mask on." Tony bounces on his feet with excitement,  as he grabs the black full-face mask with a tinted gold stripe of see-through at eye level, and attaches it to the suit's curved clasps behind Steve's ear plaques. "Say  _'code 56 iota'_ yeah see, it has basic HUB and limited access to Jarvis for when you need more information than what you can gather for yourself."

Steve blinks at him and drops to his knees, circling his owner's legs in a tight hug. 

"Whoa! Hush, boy." He pats him in the shoulder reassuringly. "What is it?"

"You are going to bring me with you." Steve whispers with a barely contained emotion inflecting his voice. He knew this was always Tony's intention, but this, being here dressed like that... made it real. 

"Well, I didn't spend weeks on this suit so you could give me a striptease. Yes, that's the plan."

"When?" 

"Whenever I feel like it's the right time. And we still have to test this suit's resistance, I'm lot letting you out there in unreliable gear, and make you some suitable weapons. As you can imagine, you can forget about the Captain America Shield." 

Steve knows that, and he doesn't particularly care. The shield is a symbol of another time of his life, one where he had control over own mind and was someone admired and respected. But that life didn't have Tony in it, so the former soldier is pretty comfortable with leaving it behind. 

"I understand" he says. 

 

***

 

It's easier to let go with Iron Man. This is familiar, this he knows. They spent months playing this game before Tony walked into the scene. 

In the training ring, Steve clad in his new battle suit and his owner in the armor, they can unleash their full destructive potential and unwind. And since it's not Tony's handsome face but Iron Man's impassive mask in front of him Steve has no trouble with concentration; he is quicker, hits harder, leaves no room for hesitation. He swings the hardlight blades attached to his forearms against Iron Man's chest and holds his ground against a repulsor blast.  It's just like old times and his blood sings with joy. 

 

"You actually cause more damage than anything we are going to get against."

"Sorry?" Steve grins once they are back in the workshop - going through the performance analysis collected by Jarvis. They are both a little bit worse for wear but excited after several hours of gear testing. 

"Hm... Maybe you should be sorry. Or I shall make you." Tony says, but there is a gleam in his eyes. "On your hands and knees, pet. Clothes off."

Steve's toes curl as he stretches on the hard metal floor, exposing his backside and spreading his thighs while the other man slides his belt off and bends it in half, taking a test swing against his palm. It falls with a sharp, cracking sound that makes Steve practically mewl with anticipation. 

 

And this is another great thing about those training cessions; his owner always gets  _playful_ afterwards. 

 

***

 

They finally go for a test flight. 

It's not the first time Steve flies attached to the armor, but it's certainly the first that Iron Man is helping him to hold on and not actively trying to shake him off with a row of very colorful curses. 

The night is clear and the city is alive under their feet. Steve is just a little bit aroused from the rush of adrenaline and his owner's metal-clad body around his own. 

He pushes up his mask and revels in the bite of the wind against his skin when Tony suddenly stops and flips his own faceplate up, scowling at something under their feet. It's a party on the roof of a skyscraper, high society and black tie from what Steve's enhanced sight can decipher. 

"Great party the Viastone guys are having tonight" he tells his sidekick. 

They share a  _look._  

"Well" Steve grins at him "It's their own fault for not inviting you."

Tony adjusts his grip around Steve's waist and kisses him. Soft and languidly, not rushing it as he usually does. They are still above the world, kissing for what feels like the eternity and barely enough at the same time. 

Finally his owner pulls away and pecks his eyebrow before sliding his faceplate back.

"If this goes as well as I'm expecting; once we get home I'll fuck you in the ass."

And Steve didn't actually need any more encouragement but  _Whoooah!_

 

The pair falls from the sky like a cruel god's hammer. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this - please comment or an innocent avocado will die.
> 
>  
> 
> [My Tumblr](http://fakesheep-luna.tumblr.com)


End file.
